


Moratorium.

by sophluorescent



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Car Accidents, Homophobia, Injury, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magical Realism, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophluorescent/pseuds/sophluorescent
Summary: The Gods of the Earth and Sky grow so consumed with one another that they neglect their creation. They seal away their memories and become human in an effort to focus on their creation, but their mortal paths end up colliding with one small problem: one of them is in love with a human.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen, Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 28
Kudos: 62
Collections: Unrestricted Love Poly Fic Fest





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Unrestricted Love Poly Fic Fest Round 1. Huge thanks to the mods for hosting this round and working with me even after I changed my idea so close to the deadline :’) I wouldn’t have been able to complete this without you guys to help me along the way.
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta, L, you were a superstar for helping me out on such short notice! I wouldn’t have finished this without your encouragement <3
> 
> Lastly, thank you guys the readers for taking the time to open up my fic! It was a challenge, but I’m actually quite happy with how it turned out. I sincerely hope you enjoy it—and if you do, please let me know what you think via comments and kudos!
> 
> This has commissioned artwork that can be viewed here [drawn by yugsooo (twt)](https://photos.app.goo.gl/gjgaTLerSbXw7PrE9) !

He alights in the early hours of the morning when the sky first helps the sun kiss the earth. The grass beneath his bare feet curls underneath his every step, breezes around him in a caressing welcome. The trees seem to turn, their great leafy tops bending to watch him approach the old, crumbling temple, every step bringing him closer and closer to the beating pulse at the core of the earth’s living things.

“I come here every morning, and you still don’t wait outside to greet me?” the Sky calls out, his voice crisp, echoing all around the ruins. Somewhere farther inside the temple, something crumbles, followed by a light giggle and the sound of pattering feet. The sky brushes his hair back and steps into the temple, scattering stardust all around him.

The vines growing up the walls reach out to him, playfully leading him down various passages.

The Temple of the Earth is like a maze, and the heart of it all is a mischievous god, loyal and steadfast, but unpredictable, just a touch chaotic. The sky is similar, just as loyal, but ordered in its intentions. The God of the Skies works like a clock, with very little variation in his routine.

He rounds a corner and is greeted by a garden of flowers that had not been there last time he visited. He walks around, petting the petals gently, smiling softly. “These are beautiful,” he calls out again, attempting to coax his lover out of the maze.

Like the whisper of wind, there comes another voice, “Not more beautiful than me, hm?”

The Sky turns around, eyes searching the room for its source. Nothing still. “Certainly not,” the Sky says kindly, affirming the other god. He hears a sigh, happy, lovesick. “Though, I fear I may forget just how beautiful you are the longer I go without seeing you,” he coaxes again.

Hands as hot as fire land on his shoulders, dragging the god backwards into an embrace as warm as the sun. “I’m offended you think you could forget me,” the Earth says. He’s shorter than the Sky when they look like this—mirrors of their human creations—with broad shoulders, wide hips, a sharp face. He’s cunning, intelligent, loud, abrasive. All things that the Sky soothes over and heals. The order to the madness.

“I don’t _really_ think that,” the Sky says, turning so he can look into the other god’s eyes. “I could never forget you,” he murmurs.

_Never._


	2. Life

“Where is it you say that you get your inspiration again?” Junmyeon asks, his voice a pleasant, candid tone against the timid, almost pretentious, gallery chatter. Baekhyun stares up at the painting displayed. It’s one of his first pieces, and anyone familiar with his work, with the year in which his paintings really started to _sell_ would know that. Junmyeon is one of those people. He’s known Baekhyun since the beginning, but even he hasn’t seen this piece. That’s probably why he asks in the first place. 

“It sounds cliché, but dreams,” Baekhyun says smoothly, his own voice a callous song, open and honest, occasionally too forthright. “I’ve always had them—the dreams—even back when I was young and my mother would tuck me in to sleep. I’ve always been _inspired_ by them,” he explains. His eyes rove over the painting again. The reason it had taken so long to put this painting up on display is that this is his favorite. It’s a huge canvas, nearly as tall as Baekhyun himself, and wide, expansive. It covers this wall. Its subject: a couple, if you asked Baekhyun, simply a space-scape if you asked anyone else. But, the lovers are there, wrapped up in the sheets of the night sky itself. With skin as dazzling as diamond, hair as amorphous as a cloud. Nebulas and comets at every place their skin meets. A black hole where there lips connect. 

He’s named the piece _Consumption_ on a whim. An instinct, really. He sees the lovers as gods, and their love so infatuated that they have grown to neglect their creations. Junmyeon doesn’t say this is what he sees—cannot possible understand it in the same nuance as Baekhyun, its creator, does, but he hums along anyways. “Some of the people here say that you’ve captured the essence of God himself with each of your paintings,” he remarks, turning a cool, knowing eye on Baekhyun now, his attention gone from the piece.

“I doubt their God is mine,” Baekhyun says simply. “But mine is theirs,” he remedies. Junmyeon snorts, but says nothing in response, at least, not pertaining to religion.

“Is this one for sale?” He asks.

“It is, but unofficially. If someone asks and I think it suits them, then… I can part with it. But otherwise, I’m just going to move it into my new flat. Or donate it, I suppose. I haven’t decided,” he murmurs, finally removing his gaze from the painting and turning it back to Junmyeon, to the upscale crowd milling about.

This isn’t a dedicated gallery. In that, the works displayed are not all Baekhyun’s. In fact, only three of his paintings are hanging on the walls today. Two of which are self-portraits, though Baekhyun would never admit to it, and the last is a portrait of Jongdae, who’s always happy to act as Baekhyun’s muse. 

“I’ll make sure to direct any potential buyers your way so you can vet them, then,” Junmyeon says. As soon as he moves away, the space he’d vacated is once again consumed. The man that takes his place isn’t particularly tall, even if he _is_ taller than Baekhyun is. He’s got a strong brow, a sharp jaw, but for all these intimidating features, they are offset by his deep dimple and kind eyes. 

“Is this yours?” He asks, his Korean stilted. Still, the fact that he even bothered to use it is surprising to Baekhyun. In America, surrounded by a crowd of primarily rich, white men and women, he’s not expecting this greeting. The man must have heard him talking with Junmyeon. 

“It is,” Baekhyun purrs pleasantly, “Do you like it?” Rarely does he ask this of the visitors. He doesn’t like to concern himself with their critiques—unless, of course, he’s _asked_ for their criticisms. He’s not even sure why he asks this stranger. There’s just something honest about him. Something that Baekhyun’s inexplicably drawn to.

“I do. It’s…” the man’s voice trails off, his eyes tracing every inch of the canvas, his gaze warm, all-encompassing. “Heavenly,” he finishes simply. He reaches up and air-traces the line of the lovers’ connected bodies. He doesn’t ask what it is, just points it out. He’s the only one so far that’s noticed the string of stars. The only one to string them all together.

Baekhyun’s made up his mind. If anyone is to get this painting, it will be this man. The price tag is hefty, but Baekhyun’s not even a smidgen unsure. There’s something in this man that _belongs_ with this painting. If he needs to, Baekhyun will have Junmyeon give it away to him as a gift. It’s not as if Baekhyun needs the money. Not when Jongdae’s capable of keeping them both afloat, and lavishly so. Not when he has his own fortune locked behind vaults, inherited from generations past. 

Shortly after he and the admirer part ways, he goes to Junmyeon. “The man I was just talking to? If he asks about the painting, it’s his. I don’t care if he haggles the price, it’s his.” 

At the end of the night, Junmyeon slides him a cheque. It’s for the painting. Full price, too. He informs Baekhyun that it’ll be moved within the next few days. Baekhyun tells him to send the buyer—Yixing—his kindest thanks.

Then, he leaves the gallery. Jongdae isn’t supposed to arrive for a couple of hours yet, but some part of Baekhyun wants to be home, waiting for him when it happens. He can pick up some takeout that they can reheat, maybe grab some beer for Jongdae to have. But, he at the very same time, he doesn’t want to sit in an empty house while he waits. It feels too real. Too familiar. Too reminiscent of a time Baekhyun doesn’t even remember. 

So, he goes to a small café. It’s a twenty-four hour shop—courtesy its proximity to a college campus—and given the season, it’s quite full of student study-groups. Baekhyun eyes them all warily. This was never quite his crowd. When he was in school, he liked to stay home and create art in-between studying parties with Junmyeon. He doesn’t see why studying in a room buzzing with activity, with noise, is so attractive, especially around finals. He’d never have been able to keep his focus.

He orders a hot chocolate, something warm and soothing. Its sweet enough to melt over all his sharp edges, all the remnant anxiety from the gallery exhibition. It’s not that Baekhyun doesn’t like _people._ It’s that he doesn’t like the events. They always feel stilted. Like the interaction is forced into a falsity. Like everyone needs to pretend they are something they are not. But, if anything Jongdae tells him of the music industry is true, the same is reflective in most situations. It must simply be the fault of being human. 

As he sits and drinks, students come over, ask if they can use one of the chairs at his table. He simply moves to a smaller table, letting them smush two of the larger ones together. Then, when again, the crowd swells, he places some money in the tip jar and leaves without a word, striding back into the crisp, whipping wind outside.

It tugs at his clothes, choking him with his scarf, whipping him with his hair. He likes the chill, how his face grows colder and colder, almost frosted. He likes the harshness of it all, the simple feeling of being malleable to the elements. At their whim and will. It’s the feeling of being miniscule that makes him feel content. That truly gives him his sense of freedom. In what way does his tiny action ever affect the grand scheme of things. In what way does the world rejoice at his smallest achievement. It’s both humbling and invigorating. A world full of possibilities, but only so many attainable to a being as small as he.

When he arrives home, the lights are already on. Looking at his watch, he realizes that he must have gotten carried away on his walk. He’s not so late, but he is late enough to be entering their home subsequent to Jongdae. 

“Dae-yah?” he calls out, voice scratchy from the cold, fingers numb but growing warmer in the heat of their penthouse suite. He toes off his shoes at the door, eyebrows knitting when he doesn’t spot Jongdae’s pair. A voice responds from somewhere further inside the house. Dissonant, unharmonious. There’s something wrong. “Jongdae?” Baekhyun asks again, rounding the living room and striding down the hall. 

Jongdae lies face down in the pillows on their bed. His bags dumped unceremoniously at the side, his shoes still on his feet. How _tired_ was he? 

Baekhyun tuts his tongue and eases forward, gently removing Jongdae’s shoes and bringing them out to the foyer. When he returns, he climbs up onto the bed, engulfing Jongdae in his body heat. “You sound like you’ve been through a lot. Did something happen?”

A sigh, then Jongdae shakes his head. A few minutes later, he rearranges them so that he’s sitting up against the headboard, with Baekhyun pressed against his chest, mindlessly drawing shapes on the fabric of Jongdae’s pant leg. “Nothing in particular. The company is just stifling, that’s all,” he says, adding, “and the media.” Baekhyun hums. He’s not as familiar with that type of spotlight, even as a premier painter. Not like Jongdae is, sitting comfortably as one of the top singers in his respective industry. His is a more devoted fanbase, a more investigative one, a more judgmental one.

Baekhyun has lived his entire life decidedly _queer._ Jongdae has the image of the perfect husband back in Korea. Baekhyun’s is a life of freedom. Jongdae’s is much less so. Free in many ways, restrictive in many others. It weighs on him, everything, but especially _them_. Needing to stay secret. These trips half way across the world, from Seoul to Austin. Keeping the schedules secret enough that suspicions aren’t raised. “I’m sorry it’s hard on you,” Baekhyun murmurs, massaging Jongdae’s thigh gently. Jongdae hums. It’s always like this, it always worries Baekhyun, but this is the life they live, the life they chose.

“How did the event go tonight? You came home late,” Jongdae asks, redirecting the conversation.

“It went well. All four paintings sold. Two went to the enthusiast that comes to most of the open galleries—I have a feeling he’s new money,” Baekhyun relates.

“He has good taste,” Jongdae praises, much to Baekhyun’s delight.

“Of course. Then an online patron of mine bought the third, we’ll have to ship her the piece,” Baekhyun explains. Jongdae nods, then asks about the fourth one. “It was that one I’ve had for years. I kept pulling it out of shows. Wasn’t ready to part with it, but I found the right person for it tonight.”

“Oh? And what were they like?”

“He looked Chinese, and had a Chinese name, but he greeted me in Korean. We didn’t talk much. I had other patrons to charm, of course, and he seemed to be tired at the time, but he was the only one who looked at that painting and picked out the anchor. Picked out that one specific line between the two lovers. The one I showed you, once, when I had too much to drink.” That night comes rushing back to him. When he’d first put the painting up against the emptiest wall in their flat at the time. When they had had celebratory drinks (Baekhyun’s first big gallery and Jongdae’s first music award). He remembers pointing out the line, the lovers, the stars, the kiss. He remembers Jongdae telling him that he could see it, but that he would have never picked it out had Baekhyun not guided him.

Jongdae hums, charmed by the way Baekhyun relates the event. There’s a lull, a silence that creeps up their chest, settles in their throat, their tongue. 

Then, “You seem tired,” Jongdae says, petting Baekhyun’s hair, carding his fingers through it. “Should I ask for a break soon?” Baekhyun’s reminded that the only reason Jongdae’s even in the city is to meet with some producers Junmyeon knows. It’s not a planned vacation. It’s a schedule.

“You don’t need to take a break. I know this is the best season for you, what with all the award shows coming up,” Baekhyun says quietly, “but, I _was_ thinking of getting a cat.” He sighs smoothing his hand down Jongdae’s thigh, nuzzling more fully into his embrace, “Just so I can have a little company when you’re away,” he says.

Jongdae hums, “I like cats,” he agrees. Then, a beat of silence later, “Have you made many friends since you moved here?” Baekhyun’s been here five years. Moved with Junmyeon when Junmyeon was chasing his dream. Thought that it would be best for his art. It _has_ been good. It has connected him to wealth of clients, but he misses his home back in Korea. He should take some time off and go back there. Only, it’s harder on he and Jongdae. It’s dangerous to be seen together there. At least here, Jongdae and he aren’t being watched as closely.

“It’s been five years, of course I’ve made friends,” Baekhyun pouts. An unspoken question hangs in the air. _Who?_ “I have Junmyeon, of course, and Chanyeol-ah,” he says. Chanyeol’s one of the producers Jongdae will be meeting with this week. Baekhyun’s glad to introduce the two of them just as Junmyeon had introduced Chanyeol and he a few years ago.

“Anyone else?” Jongdae teases, eyes soft, a little concerned.

Baekhyun thinks. No. Not really. He has acquaintances, but not very many friends. Junmyeon calls him a superficial person to strangers: inviting and friendly, but not someone who tells their secrets, who reveals their inner-thoughts all that easily. Jongdae takes his silence in stride, “I think a cat would be lovely, then. Will you be coming with me to meet with the producers?”

“Am I needed?”

“Well, no,” Jongdae says, thumbing at the skin behind Baekhyun’s ear, “but I’d like to spend as much time with you as I can while I’m here.”

_Oh,_ Baekhyun thinks. He smiles then, motions for Jongdae to get up. Let them shower together, brush their teeth, and then go to sleep. He’s excited for tomorrow, for each of these days he gets to spend with his lover.

***

When he wakes, Baekhyun’s first thought is to paint. It’s early in the morning. He probably only slept for two hours, actually. Jongdae snores lightly beside him, his skin like a furnace against Baekhyun’s. Baekhyun weighs his options. He could spend ten minutes gently detangling himself from Jongdae’s embrace, or he could try to go back to sleep. 

He detangles himself. Lifting up Jongdae’s arms, silently detaching their skin, unwrapping their legs. He pushes back the bed cover and stands. The chill in the house is manageable thanks to the heater, but Baekhyun still shivers before he can stumble into his robe. Still, the cold seeps up through the wood floors, and he’s far too lazy to go pull on some socks or slippers. 

His studio is on the third floor, that way he can paint up on the roof on good days with an overview of the city spanning out as far as the eye can see. It’s also to keep the smell of all his paints from permeating throughout the entire house. Here he can open up the balcony and all the other windows and let the scent waft out. That way it never become suffocating.

He does this now, even though it lets all the cold air inside. Once he begins to paint, he won’t even notice the cold. Not until his fingers grow too numb to properly grip the brush, and then he’ll just crawl back into bed with Jongdae, let him warm him back up. He connects his phone to the bluetooth speaker and puts on a Spotify playlist characterized by smooth vocals, a heavy, drawling bass. A sound that’s mysterious, supernatural in nature. 

Then, he sets out his canvas. This is a recycled one, but it’ll do. Baekhyun doesn’t think the piece he has in mind will ever end up going out to auction. It feels too intimate to him. Much like the massive painting he sold to that Chinese buyer, Yixing Zhang. Again, it’s a painting of lovers, only this time. Three. 

He paints the base for the first two as the minutes stretch by, keeping his strokes even, his colors bright, setting up the tones he’ll want to lift into each of the subjects’ expressions. This piece is already far less abstract than he tends to paint—more realistic, almost renaissance-like. Then, after blocking in the third figure, he has to stop, both to let the paint dry and to warm himself up.

It’s five a.m. now that he looks at the clock. Two hours? Three, perhaps, that he’s been in his studio then.He can hear Jongdae’s alarm going off downstairs. There’s no way he has a meeting this early, so he probably has it turned on from some residual time yesterday. Maybe for one of his flights? A meeting with someone overseas? 

He closes up all of his paints, covering palettes with saran wrap, capping tubes. He closes the windows and turns off the speaker. Then, flips the light switches and makes his way downstairs.

Jongdae’s blinking blearily when Baekhyun returns. He doesn’t ask. They know enough about each other to recognize one another’s routines. Jongdae opens his arms, doesn’t even protest when Baekhyun curls up against him, dropping the robe on the floor. His skin must be cold as ice, but Jongdae’s is warm and inviting. 

Jongdae resets the alarm for later—around eight—and they go back to sleep.

When they wake at eight thirty, they have an entire day ahead of them. Jongdae is to meet with a few different producers about a dance-pop track for his upcoming album, and Baekhyun will accompany him for the sole sake of getting out of the house for once (without a thought on his mind).

The first studio they visit is tired. The people within it are sweet, and the producer they meet is generous with his time and explanations as Baekhyun translates for Jongdae. But, the sound doesn’t quite match what they’re looking for as a title. Realizing this, Jongdae asks about the type of mixing and melody they would create for a ballad-style track.

They are demo-ed an old track. It’s a little outdated technically-speaking, but the sound is still rich, nostalgic. Baekhyun knows as soon as he hears it that though Jongdae may pass up this studio for the pop-album, he’ll be back for the ballads. When Jongdae makes his decision a few minutes later, Baekhyun translates it in kind: “If you’re willing to wait a few more months, I’d like to come back for this track, and see about others. For a winter release. It’s a softer-style than what I’m going for during the summer.” The producer understands, saving the demo-track for later, when Jongdae inevitably contacts him again. And then, they leave.

It’s eleven-thirty now. “This studio’s a smaller name, and they originally reached out to Red Velvet’s team,” Jongdae explains, “they’re experimental enough that my team wants me to check them out. See if there’s a sound we agree on.” Baekhyun nods. He’s fond of Red Velvet, likes their versatile sound. If anyone was capable of adopting a facet of it, it would be Jongdae.

When they arrive at the studio, Baekhyun’s struck by how much more low-key it is. The equipment is still stellar, both expensive and up-to-date, but the people are much more relaxed. Blankets are strewn over the couch, coffee cups lie around the room. It’s a little messy, but Baekhyun immediately takes to it much more quickly. They’re greeted by one of the producer’s friends—Korean—who greets Jongdae in his native tongue, tells him that he can translate if they would like. Jongdae agrees readily, happy to give Baekhyun a break.

“We’ll probably be having another artist come in soon, we hope you don’t mind? I think Alex gave you a heads up already?” The translator—Kevin—says. Jongdae agrees. He was told. He’s happy to share the meeting, even if it means he has to vie for tracks. The room bubbles with laughter, and then, they grow serious, pulling up their demo’s, talking about their company and production styles.

Baekhyun takes his leave, dropping down onto the couch and picking up a stray guitar. He rests it across his lap, plucking at the strings as if he were playing a piano. His music is soft, quiet, non-disruptive. It’s been a long time since he’s played an instrument. They have a grand piano back at the house, but without Jongdae to duet him, Baekhyun tends to leave it collecting dust. Otherwise, he’d get too lonely.

A few minutes later, the door opens and a man drowning in a hoodie lets himself inside. When he turns around to greet the producers, Baekhyun realizes it is Yixing, the man from the gallery. Once their greetings are all said and done, Yixing tells them to keep working with Jongdae, he’ll just wait for a little bit. Then, he takes a seat next to Baekhyun.

“Fancy seeing you here?” He says, in English this time. Baekhyun grins, his eyes turning into crescents.

“Jongdae and I are close,” he says, “and, I never got to thank you for buying my painting. I’m glad it went to a good home.” 

“How do you know I’m a good home?” Yixing jokes, reaching over to pluck idly at the strings of the guitar. Unlike most strangers, Baekhyun doesn’t feel the incessant need to keep Yixing out of his personal space. 

“Call it a hunch,” Baekhyun answers easily, humming as he does so. He glances up, catches Jongdae’s curious gaze. He shakes his head, he’ll explain in a little bit. When he turns back to Yixing, he catches a different look—one just a little too knowing. Baekhyun doesn’t want to read too much into it. Allows himself to relax, “You do music, then?” He asks.

Yixing nods, confirming, “I release under Lay Zhang, I’m just here to take a little listen for something. Normally I self-produce,” he explains. The name rings a bell, but Baekhyun’s so far out of the loop in regards to the rising musicians of the day. Outside of what’s charting in Korea, and Jongdae’s own friends, Baekhyun can’t say he’s been paying too much attention.

“Forgive me, I’m fairly sure I’ve heard of you, but I don’t really pay attention to names,” Baekhyun says apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. Yixing waves him off.

“I’m bigger in China, but I’m trying to branch out into America, hence why I’m out here learning.”

Baekhyun admires him already, can already see the passion Yixing has for his work. He opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by sharp laughter. Jongdae gets up out of his seat and stands, obviously waiting for Baekhyun to join him.

Yixing stands in tandem with him, walking over to settle into Jongdae’s vacated seat. “I said we’d probably go get lunch then head back here to talk more. I think they’re going to be the ones I work with. Of course, I still have some more meetings, but I’ll just send Seungwan to those, I think,” Jongdae explains, ushering Baekhyun out the door.

Baekhyun waves at the producers and to Yixing, then steps out into the hall. “Lunch _does_ sound good, I’ll admit,” he grins, reaching out to ruffle Jongdae’s hair. “Anyways, that Yixing was the guy who bought my painting,” Baekhyun says, “he’s from China. Releases music under Lay Zhang,” Baekhyun explains. Jongdae _ah_ ’s. 

“I’ve heard of him. He cleaned up at one of the award shows I attended last year. He seemed very passionate about his work, I’m surprised I didn’t recognize him today.”

Baekhyun laughs, agreeing that it is a bit strange, and leaves the topic for another time.

“Should we go get you that cat?” Jongdae murmurs after leaving his second meeting with Alex and Kevin, the two producers he’d hit it off with earlier in the day. 

Baekhyun yawns, “It’s getting late, do you think anyone’s open? I mean, we can always see what the local animal shelter’s hours are.”

Jongdae agrees. They both head into a nearby café and take a seat. Baekhyun orders for the both of them, returning to the table. “The nearest shelter closes at nine, so we have a couple of hours, if there’s any animals that catch your interest,” Jongdae informs him.

“Catch _my_ interest, aren’t they going to be your pet too?”

“They’ll be living with you more often, right? It’s better if you and it get along,” Jongdae counters. Baekhyun sighs. It _is_ , but he doesn’t want an animal that doesn’t like Jongdae. Or that Jongdae doesn’t like. Regardless, he accepts the phone and turns it to face him. The shelter website has a tab of animals listed as ‘urgent,’ which obviously catches Baekhyun’s attention first.

There’s two senior cats listed at the moment, both spayed females. One’s a white, tail-less Manx cat, listed as having come to the shelter when her previous owner was hospitalized. Baekhyun instantly grows fond of her. The second cat is nearly the same. She’s an orange tabby with medium-length fur, and was dropped off by a family that was moving and couldn’t keep her. 

Baekhyun makes the call to the shelter, explains that he’s interested in both of the cats and, if possible, that he’d love to meet sometime to see if they get along. The volunteer on the other line asks if he’s available to come in that day.

He sends a questioning look to Jongdae and receives a nod in return. So, he confirms with the volunteer that he can show up that night to see how things work out.

By the end of the night, he has two new cats.

Jongdae leaves for Seoul too quickly— _every_ time he leaves, it’s too soon—meaning that once again, Baekhyun has the house to himself. It leaves him awake at night. And he’s not one to enjoy staring at his ceiling for too long. He pets _Monani_ , the tabby cat, and _Myung_ , the Manx cat, then throws the blanket off his legs and slides out of bed.

It all feels so familiar, so routine, when he pads up to the third floor and opens up the windows, unfastens the balcony doors. Cold wind blows inside, chilling him. He’s gotten so used to the warmth that he’s always unprepared for the cold.

He connects his phone to the bluetooth speaker, and, with a stroke of curiosity, searches up _Lay Zhang,_ choosing the first playlist that comes up, and sets the phone down as the speakers begin to pump music. 

He takes a seat at his desk, reaching over to grab the most worn of his sketchbooks. One of his handmade ones. Then, he picks up a pencil, already sharpened down to a ridiculously small size. If he were actually planning to put together a _piece,_ Baekhyun would have chosen one of the fancier ones, where the size and softness of the lead actually matters. But, as it is, he only wants to warm-up, see what comes to mind once his pencil meets the paper.

As always happens, he grows distracted. When he hasn’t had a good night of sleep, he finds it hard to conceive a new idea. His creativity mulls out of reach, an amorphous cloud to which he has no access. It leaves him frustrated, _tired._ So, he gives up on the ideas that swirl just out of mind and focuses on something he _knows_ , something that is tried and true. 

Jongdae’s face appears beneath his pencil strokes. Each line measured and attentive. Baekhyun captures the softness in his face, his lips (curly and mischevious), his eyelashes, long and so sweet. He also catches the angles. The sharpness of his jawline, the cut of his cheekbones. He draws Jongdae with a knowing hand. He is so, so familiar.

It only makes Baekhyun miss him more.

A few hours later, he sets the pencil down, places his head in his hands, and tiredly wipes at his eyes. He looks at the clock. It’s seven in the morning. Without a second thought, he closes all the windows and balcony doors, and makes his way downstairs. He grabs a coat to put over his old t-shirt and sweatpants and slips on some sneakers.

And, then, he’s on his way. He lives just a few blocks from one of the main streets in the city, lined up with different eateries, shops, and cafes. He doesn’t want a heavy breakfast—isn’t hungry—really just wants to get out of the house, so he settles on heading back to that café he’d gone to the night Jongdae flew in.

He’s surprised when he walks in, warm air blasting his face, and catches sight of an increasingly familiar face. “ _Yixing_ ,” he greets, voice warm, walking up to his table, hand outstretched. Yixing clasps their fingers together clumsily, and motions to the chair opposite him. Baekhyun nods, “Let me just go order, first.” He puts down his bag. Yixing glances at it curiously. “Sketchbooks and paint,” Baekhyun explains fleetingly, stepping away from the table to order.

When he returns, hot chocolate clasped in hand, he glances at Yixing’s screen. It’s a familiar interface, if only because Baekhyun has attended meetings at Jongdae’s side. “Making music?” He asks, sitting down. Yixing looks up, grinning.

“Always,” he says, his smile bright. “And you’re always drawing, it looks like?”

Baekhyun snorts, “Hardly. Thought I’d come here and distract myself. Do some studies. I didn’t expect to run into you. Are you staying in Austin a long time?”

“I wouldn’t say a long time. Really just trying to get a quick change in scenery before I go back home. It got… stifling at home,” he says, his eyes growing but a touch sad.

Baekhyun understands, probably better than most. “Well, Austin’s a good place to get inspired, I’m sure. I hear the music scene’s quite impressive.”

“Don’t you like it here? You live here, don’t you?” Yixing asks, catching the lilt in Baekhyun’s tone. 

Baekhyun shrugs, “It’s not quite my taste. I’m a home-body at heart. I miss Seoul,” he explains. “But I came to America to study and figured I’d stay. It’s easier like this.”

“For you and Jongdae, you mean?” Yixing asks. He’s sharp. Or at least, he’s not dumb. Baekhyun has his reputation, and considering he and Jongdae were together the other day, anyone with eyes could _speculate._ However, very few actually make a point to bring it up. 

Baekhyun’s gaze snaps up from his sketchbooks, meets Yixing’s. His eyes don’t reveal any judgement, but…

“Perhaps,” Baekhyun settles on, avoiding absolutes. He flips open his sketchbook, letting the conversation lull. Then, as he picks up his pencil and begins to study Yixing’s face, he chooses a new topic for them to chat about. “I listened to your music this morning. You’ve got an expansive discography,” he says, eyes twinkling at the little quirk of Yixing’s lips.

“And, did you like this _expansive_ discography?” Yixing teases, glancing up from his screen.

Baekhyun taps his chin, pretending to deliberate. “Mhm, I suppose I found a few songs to put on my playlists. Do you often release in multiple languages?”

“I like connecting with my fans, I’m sure you understand. You like to know to whom your paintings go, right?” Yixing reasons, foot tapping to the beat of his music. Baekhyun can’t hear it, but he imagines an addictive beat. All of Yixing’s songs had a tug to them, something that made Baekhyun hesitant to turn the playlist off.

Baekhyun nods, “I get it. So, do you speak more than three languages?”

“I pick up words here and there. The only ones I’m actively learning or practicing are Korean and English, though. That’s why I sing in those languages. I’m comfortable in them,” he explains. “The album I’m working on now is a dual release. One version in English, one version in Mandarin.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“I enjoy it,” Yixing says. He closes his laptop screen and leans forward, peering at Baekhyun’s sketch. He smiles. “Every night when I go to sleep, I just _dream_. Songs write themselves at that point. If that makes sense? It’s so cliché, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I say every time Junmyeon asks about my inspiration. Dreams, man,” Baekhyun agrees, “I feel like I lived another life. Everything’s so, so vivid.”

Yixing nods, a curious glint to his eyes. “That’s exactly what it’s like…”

They look up, watching one another, both of them surprised to meet someone else who just… gets it. 

A chair scrapes against the floor, the sound breaking their reverie. Baekhyun returns to sketching, putting the finishing touches on Yixing’s portrait and looking for another subject to start drawing. Yixing goes back to his music, both of them working in silence.

In time, Baekhyun’s hand begins to cramp and the cold rush of air whenever the café’s door opens makes him irritable. He’s tired too, his eyes drooping. He could use a nap. He closes up his sketchbook, leaning back in his chair. “How long are you staying, again? I don’t think you mentioned it.” 

Yixing looks up, settling his headphones around his neck. “Ah, I’m probably staying a couple more weeks. I’m actually heading to Seoul next. I’m meeting a choreographer there.” 

Baekhyun feels another pang of longing for Jongdae. He’s not even been gone longer than a couple of days. Baekhyun _has_ to get over this pining. “Ah, that’s nice. I was thinking of visiting home soon. Jongdae came here just recently, obviously… you know that,” Baekhyun rambles, “but I’ve been wanting to go see some old friends. Visit places I’ve almost forgotten.”

Yixing leans back in his chair, too, sensing that Baekhyun’s grown tired of working and is getting ready to leave. “Plan on visiting family?”

Baekhyun’s jaw clenches, almost imperceptible, “just Jongdae,” he says. Yixing raises a brow, but doesn’t question the action. It’s not his place. 

“Well, if we happen to be in Seoul at the same time, you should let me know. I’ve been a few times, but I’m sure I’ve not seen half of the city yet,” he invites. Baekhyun grins.

“Certainly,” he agrees. He picks up one of their napkins and scribbles his number into the papery fabric. “You should call. Whether it’s sometime this week and you want to check out some stuff in Austin, or if you’re in Seoul. I’d love to show you around, get something to eat, explore a venue, you know,” he slides the napkin over to Yixing and stands up, gathering his bag in hand, slipping it over his arm and settling it on his shoulder.

He waves and leaves. 

***

_The stars gleam, the night sky sifting around him like water in a bath. Hands cup his face, cold, but so, so gentle. His heart thumps, a pulse that ripples out into the universe, that warps the very folds of the starscape._

_He reaches up over his shoulder, caresses the neck, the face of his lover. Coaxes them into view. Their skin is like the night, dark, blue, nebulous. They aren’t all together human._

_They’re divine. Beautiful, ethereal, captivating._

_They kiss, long and deep, bodies mingling._

“I could never forget.”

_Never._


	3. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warning: Graphic Injury

“I miss you,” Baekhyun whispers, Monani butting her head against his hand. He pets her idly, watching as Jongdae’s face falls. The monitor pixellates his image, the internet connection failing to give them some semblance of reality. Baekhyun had thought that a video call might be helpful. That it would help the ache go away, but it doesn’t. If anything, it exacerbates it. Makes him realize that they truly _are_ some seven thousand miles apart. 

Jongdae sighs, the sound of it distorted, lagging. He’s so sad. _They’re_ so sad. How is it that they still think this can work out? “I miss you too,” he says. He used to give excuses. Would tell Baekhyun when he was next expected to get a break. When Baekhyun could next expect to see him. 

He stopped making promises when he found that he couldn’t always keep them.

They sit in silence. Baekhyun pets his cats, trapped in his feelings like a ship in a storm, everything on the verge of capsizing. He thought that having the pets might help soothe the loneliness, and they _do_ , it’s just not that human affection that he so desperately craves.

“Come to Seoul,” Jongdae says, voice sure. “We’ll have to be more careful, but,” he trails off. When Baekhyun looks up at the screen he can see that Jongdae’s trying, that he’s really and truly trying. His heart aches. Why does everything have to be so hard?

Baekhyun nods, “I will.” He’d made up his mind a while ago. He was going to go home for a little regardless of whether or not Jongdae asked him—it’s just good that the offer’s on the table, now, and that he’d suggested it. Baekhyun knows Jongdae would always receive him with love. It’s just—he’s not sure if it would have been good to put that sort of pressure on them. Jongdae would have had to rework his schedule on short notice, or sleep with the fact that Baekhyun wasn’t with him at the moment. That they were so close, yet so far away.

They don’t need that pressure.

Baekhyun already feels like they’re made of glass. He’s not sure they could handle even the slightest crack at this point.

“When should I come?” He asks, staring at the screen. 

“Soon.”

***

The minute he lands at Incheon International, he’s reminded that Jongdae can’t come to greet him at the gate. However, when Baekhyun finally takes his phone off of airplane mode, he receives a text from Jongdae’s manager. Yongmin will pick him up and take him out to a restaurant where Jongdae will be waiting.

Their first dinner together in Seoul since Baekhyun last visited perhaps a year ago. He wonders what restaurant Jongdae chose—thinks that it might be the hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place where they used to unwind back when they first met.

Aside from Yongmin’s text, there’s another. An unknown number. Baekhyun’s about to ignore it, thinking it’s a telemarketer or some other promotional text, since it’s not like he’s expecting any new calls, when he actually takes a moment to read the preview text.

Oh.

_Yixing,_ his mind supplies helpfully. He decides to forgo reading the text right at that moment, instead navigating his way out of the gate and over to the pick up lanes. The airport has a weird familiarity. He recognizes the design and colors, but the airport’s obviously had changes made—shops moving, gates moved and expanded, the like. It almost puts Baekhyun in a daze. Reminds him that though Seoul was his birthplace, and he still considers it a _home_ , that he’s still a stranger to it in many ways. 

Seoul always brings out that sense of longing in him. That homesickness that he wishes he didn’t have. Waiting in the cold outside, he fleetingly thinks about calling Baekbeom.

By the time the car rolls up, he’s thought better of the idea. 

He and Yongmin exchange a stilted greeting, an awkward conversation. They’ve met enough that Yongmin isn’t a mere acquaintance, but Baekhyun would not call them friends, despite all he knows about his and Jongdae’s relationship.

The car ride ends when, sure enough, Yongmin pulls to a stop in front of the small, nearly hidden-away establishment where Jongdae and he loved to spend time. “I’ll bring your bags to his. And Baekhyun,” he pauses, “take care of him. He’s been in his head a lot lately,” Yongmin says before Baekhyun shuts the door. He nods, eyes wide, and closes the door.

Jongdae’s tucked into the corner booth when Baekhyun walks inside. The kind old grandmother who runs the shop recognizes him and points him to Jongdae—who’s facing away from the door to minimize the chances he is recognized. 

Baekhyun slides into the seat opposite him, clumsy and frank. Jongdae immediately laughs, helping to clear a spot for Baekhyun. He’s already ordered, plates of steaming food in front of them. “I’m so glad to see you,” Baekhyun breathes. Everything he does is so open, so honest. He does nothing to hide the adoration on his face.

Jongdae laughs, smiling gently. This is perhaps the only place he feels safe being a little more open with his affection. They’ve been coming here for years. It’s a bubble for them, free of prying eyes.

“I’m happy to see you too. I was worried about you. You didn’t seem all right on our call,” he mumbles, picking up a clump of noodles between his chopsticks and finally beginning to eat now that Baekhyun’s joined him. 

“I don’t think I was,” Baekhyun says slowly, sipping the lemonade Jongdae had ordered him. “But, I’m okay now that I’m here.”

“Same,” Jongdae says quietly, “but… how long are you going to be here?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. Is Baekhyun only going to stay a short while, and then, will they return to their sometimes months of not seeing each other except for over Skype calls?

“I don’t know. Haven’t decided. I still have the apartment and everything, so I could stay, but I have some exhibitions I intended on attending in a few weeks. I’ll have to fly back to the States soon anyways,” Baekhyun explains. “But, I think I’d like to stay for a while. I’m lonely.”

“Where are the cats?” Jongdae asks, curious.

“Junmyeon’s going to come as well. They’re going to fly with him. He just had some additional business to deal with. I think he and I will go around exploring since I imagine you’ll be busy,” Baekhyun says. Jongdae nods, agreeing, then watches as Baekhyun’s eyes light up. “Actually, that reminds me. I got a text from Yixing, but didn’t open it yet. I should see what he wants before making plans with Myeon.”

Jongdae watches as Baekhyun reads the text, sipping his glass of water as he does so. Baekhyun leans back.

“Yixing’s already here in Seoul. Said I should tell him when I’m in the city too and we can meet up,” Baekhyun explains, grinning. It’s the most excited Jongdae’s seen him all night apart from when he first sat in the booth and said hello. 

“You two are friends now?” Jongdae asks curiously, one eyebrow arched. 

Baekhyun looks up, eyes wide, his smile falters a bit, but the look is quickly replaced. “Mhm, I wouldn’t say we’re _friends_ per se, but I ran into him at a coffee shop a little while after you flew out. He’s good company. I told him I’d show him around Seoul when he came.”

“And how are you going to do that? You hardly remember the way home,” Jongdae teases, feeding Baekhyun a spoonful of broth from one of the various bowls. Baekhyun slurps noisily. 

“I’m sure he’s up for a bit of an adventure. After all, it’s the journey, not the destination that counts,” Baekhyun reasons, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Jongdae rolls his eyes, stomach turning, but heart endeared. 

“You’re gross,” he mumbles, tossing Baekhyun a napkin. “But, I guess you’re right. Will I be able to meet him again, since he’s spending so much time with you?”

“I don’t know if he’s really spending _that_ much time with me,” Baekhyun drawls, cocking his head, “but I’m sure we can all meet up for dinner or something, right? I’ll text and ask if he’s down.” 

He misses the off-tone in Jongdae’s voice when he agrees, that dinner with the two of them would be nice. 

***

Though Baekhyun is significantly closer to Jongdae now, it doesn’t mean they get very many chances _together_. If Baekhyun can’t get into Jongdae’s building without chancing a scandal, then they simply don’t meet up. It wouldn’t be good for either of them should Baekhyun be seen at Jongdae’s place. Not after Baekhyun’s own scandals.

Still, Junmyeon flies in soon enough, bringing with him both Monani and Myung. Baekhyun moves them right in at his home away from home, a penthouse suite remnant of his inheritance and one of the few things Baekbeom hadn’t been given in the wake of their parents’ deaths. 

“Yixing says we should meet up with him at the studio he’s choreographing at,” Baekhyun explains as both he and Junmyeon slip into their car seats. He buckles his belt and waits for his phone to connect via Bluetooth in order to pull up the GPS. “Can you enter the address?” He asks, putting the car into gear and pulling out of their parking space, careful not to scrape the sides of his car on the garage’s concrete walling. Junmyeon does as asked, enters the address, and sits back, looking over at Baekhyun curiously.

“You seem more excited to be meeting up with Yixing than you do when Jongdae says he’s good for dinner,” Junmyeon points out.

Baekhyun glances at him, smile falling, “I’m not _more_ excited. I’m just excited. It’s something new,” he defends.

Junmyeon nods slowly, swallowing. “Or someone new?” He presses gently.

Baekhyun’s foot jerks on the gas, the car jumping forward. He controls himself quickly enough, and returns to a regular driving speed, fingers tight on the wheel. “Jongdae’s the one for me. You know that.”

“I’m just saying… it’s hard to see you so sad all the time.”

“I’m not sad.”

“You’re pining, moping, _morose._ I don’t know what it is exactly. But you’re not you. Not the bright, happy you I’m used to, at least.”

“That’s because you met me right after I met Jongdae,” Baekhyun explains.

“And I’m telling you now that whatever original spark you had looks like it’s dulled. I only see it now when you’re telling me about Yixing,” Junmyeon argues.

Baekhyun clenches his jaw. The GPS intones their next turn, disrupting their conversation. Then, “Myeon-ah, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“It’s okay to fall out of love, Baekhyun. I’m just… I don’t want you to pretend like you’re not interested in Yixing. He might be good for you. I want you to watch for that.”

“I thought you were Jongdae’s friend,” Baekhyun murmurs, “why are you trying to put a wedge between us?”

“I’m not. And I was your friend first. I just want to make sure you’re happy. And recently, you haven’t seemed that way.” 

Baekhyun pulls into the parking garage attached to the building the studio is housed inside. He sits quietly in his seat after cutting the engine. “You know, Yixing’s famous too. Who’s to say it wouldn’t be the same?”

Junmyeon doesn’t have an answer.

That conversation over for the time being, they make their way inside, navigating around as inconspicuously as they can—determined not to get underfoot. Eventually, they find the room Yixing is dancing inside. From the hallway, they can already hear small shouts and cheers. 

Peeking through the glass door, Baekhyun’s greeted with the sight of Yixing effortlessly moving through a choreography routine, his body fluid and loose, but sharp and controlled all at the same time. Baekhyun’s first thought is that Yixing dances like he’s _passionate_ about it—not like it’s a chore. His second is that Yixing’s beautiful.

His heart hammers in his chest.

When the music next cuts off and the dancers disperse a bit to go grab water and cold towels, Baekhyun waves. Yixing sees them and meets them at the door, though not before he grabs his bag and sweatshirt. When he greets them, he does so breathlessly. For a moment, Baekhyun’s starstruck, his eyes tracing a thin bead of sweat running its way down Yixing’s temple.

“Where are we headed for dinner,” Yixing asks, watching Baekhyun curiously. 

Baekhyun straightens up, recollecting himself. “Jongdae and I like little hole-in-the-wall places. Junmyeon here, you’ve met him, knows a spot. With luck, Jongdae might be able to show up, too,” he says cheerily. Yixing grins, instantly agreeing to their plans. 

Their first chance to really talk comes when they arrive at the restaurant. Junmyeon ends up taking a wrong turn early in the drive, distracting both he and Baekhyun early on as the argue about the best way to both beat traffic and arrive at their destination quickly. 

When they finally do sit down to talk, Junmyeon takes care of ordering, scanning the menus carefully. Yixing and Baekhyun turn, grinning.

“How have you been enjoying Seoul?” Baekhyun asks, resting his chin on his hands. 

“I’ve been here before,” Yixing teases, “but I do love this place. I like feeling invisible. It’s not that no one recognizes me here, but it’s easier to go unnoticed than back home,” he mentions.

“I think I remember you saying the same thing about America, didn’t you?”

“Probably,” Yixing laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still, the culture’s more familiar here. America’s nice and all, but I find it stifling sometimes. You never quite know how people are going to receive you.”

“Tell me about it,” Baekhyun says. As a fairly flamboyant gay man, he’s more than well aware of how people receive him, especially given how he lives in the South. “But I agree. It’s not that I feel more inconspicuous here, but I care less about what people think of me here,” he says. Yixing nods, understanding. “But that’s enough talking about being strangers, how has your music been coming on lately?”

“The album’s nearly complete. The choreographer and I are still putting together the routines for the songs I’ll be performing, but, for the most part, I think I’m closing to getting this one out there. Though, I _did_ have a dream. I might add a new song last minute.”

“Baekhyun dreams up all his paintings,” Junmyeon mentions from beside them, reminding the two of his presence. “You’re the same?”

“I guess. I mean, it’s hard to explain. It’s like I’m missing something. It’s a profound feeling of loss, but also of… ultimate completion, if that makes sense?” Yixing struggles to explain.

Baekhyun cuts in, “You remember back in college when I’d wake up and I’d go sketch those figure drawings. I tore them up and sold them as a collage recently,” he fishes. Junmyeon nods, recalling the images of twined bodies and hot hands. “It’s the same thing for me. I always considered it romantic, which is why most of my art includes a pair of lovers,” he explains. 

“And most of my songs are directed towards someone. Sometimes the fans, more often that person I remember from my dreams, but can never realize.”

Baekhyun glances over curiously. Again, he’s struck by how similar they are. How they just _click_. 

His phone _dings_. 

“Jongdae can join us!” he whispers excitedly. He shoots off the name of the restaurant and then looks up at Yixing. “You’ve met Jongdae before, but only glancingly I think. You’ll like him. He’ll like you.” 

“I hope so,” Yixing says kindly. At that time, their interrupted, food set down on the table. Baekhyun hurries to stop the waitress, adding an order of Jongdae’s favorite so that when he arrives he’ll have something warm to sit down to. 

They eat quietly. It’s then that Baekhyun notices the lethargy in how Yixing moves, the fatigue in his eyes, the slightest tremor of his hand. Once he notices it, he cannot miss it. “Do you get enough rest, Xing-ah?” He questions curiously.

Yixing looks up, “I rest when there’s no work to do,” he says dismissively.

“Mhm, there’s always work to do,” Baekhyun and Junmyeon say at once, eyebrows knit with concern. Baekhyun pushes his food around his plate idly. “You should get more rest. No one’s going to fault you for taking care of yourself,” he says.

_Not exactly true_ , he remembers with a grimace. But, this is about Yixing, not about him.

“Then, do you get enough rest, Baekhyun?” Yixing asks, arching a brow. “Or do you get rest but wake up tired? Your heart’s aching.”

Everyone wants to talk about Baekhyun’s aching heart today. He doesn’t understand. He can’t be _that_ transparent—so much so that even Yixing caught on (despite them being virtually strangers, even still). “What does my heart matter to you?” Baekhyun clips back, eyes sparkling, masking the little jab of pain he’d felt at the very real reminder that he’s… _not_ okay.

Yixing looks ready to say something, but then, the entrance bell rings and Jongdae enters the shop, a hoodie pulled over his head, a mask drawn over his face. He looks up, unwrapping his scarf and pushing back his hood, bowing politely to the waitstaff. 

He hurries to Baekhyun and company’s booth, sliding in beside Yixing—back to the door. Baekhyun grins, instantly melting in Jongdae’s company. He reaches across the table, gives Jongdae’s hand a gentle squeeze in companion to his spoken greeting. 

The smile he receives in return soothes over his hurting heart. 

“Jongdae, this is Yixing. Yixing—Jongdae,” Baekhyun introduces. “You’ve met.”

Jongdae scoffs, turning to give Yixing a little nod of greeting. “I hear you and Baekhyun are becoming fast friends,” he says lightly, only a tinge of envy evident in his voice. His eyes widen when the waitress delivers his order to the table, interrupting them for a moment. He looks over at Baekhyun, hearts in his eyes. Baekhyun blows him a kiss, fluttering his eyelashes.

“I suppose you could say that,” Yixing says, bringing them back to the conversation. He’s watching them curiously. Almost refreshingly, he doesn’t appear to grow any colder to the two of them, even now that Baekhyun’s shamelessly preening under Jongdae’s attention. “But he’s been talking so nicely about you, I can’t help but want to know you as well.”

Baekhyun raises a brow, glancing at Junmyeon, who shakes his head imperceptibly, watching the two stars sitting across them. Yixing holds Jongdae’s gaze. There’s something powerful about it, something tense. An unchartered territory. An offering to share a friendship, to appease one another. 

“What’s there to know about me?” Jongdae says, taking a sip of his drink. Baekhyun watches them, smile growing.

Yixing hums, “Where were you born?”

“Daejeon, you?”

“Changsha. Baekhyun, Junmyeon?”

“Bucheon.”

“Seoul,” Junmyeon says. 

Yixing cocks his head, “How’d you all meet?”

“Jongdae and I met through our piano instructor, and Junmyeon and I’s families worked together—pharmacy,” Baekhyun explains. 

“So that’s how you got to study in America, your family’s got bank?” Yixing jokes. Baekhyun’s smile falters, so Junmyeon cuts in smoothly.

“We’re well-off, yes. But, we were more interested in the distance America afforded from home,” he says. Yixing catches on immediately, remembering the last time he asked about Baekhyun’s family and the negative response he had received for his efforts. He’d forgotten. “Still all of us kept in touch despite the distance. And then, each of us excelled in our respective fields.”

“Art broker, painter, and musician?” Yixing lists off.

“Lawyer, I specialize in Medical Malpractice claims. I just handle art on the side,” Junmyeon corrects.

“Yeah, Myeon would have gone into theatre, but he still wanted to have a relationship with his family,” Baekhyun teases, nudging Junmyeon playfully even though his words leave a sour taste in his mouth. “And Jongdae’s family was always appreciative of the arts. He’s lucky,” Baekhyun murmurs, eyes sad.

Yixing’s parents were as well. His grandmother in particular was the one to always push him to do better, to succeed until he was the brightest star in the sky. 

“I looked at your albums the other day. Does Baekhyun ever make your album art? I didn’t really recognize the style, but?”

“My albums include a little notebook in each package. Baekhyun does the covers for those. I’d like for him to do my album art one day, though,” Jongdae explains, looking over at Baekhyun like this is an age-old argument for the both of them. Maybe it is.

“I try to keep the lowest profile I can in Korea,” Baekhyun says by way of explanation. “I think it’s better for all parties involved that Jongdae doesn’t get associated with my name.”

Yixing rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to keep dropping hints about your complicated backstory, you have to at least explain some of it,” Yixing finally says exasperatedly. 

Jongdae laughs sharply, for once shocked to see Baekhyun immediately shut up, caught off guard by Yixing’s bluntness. Junmyeon scoffs as well, also slightly surprised. And Baekhyun, his eyes just narrow as he sizes Yixing up, decides whether or not he actually wants to open up the floodgates.

He makes his decision in a mere second, feeling like there’s nothing about him Yixing won’t one day know—which is a terrifying though in and of itself. 

“My father was a prominent business man for a pharmaceutical company here in Seoul. My mother was an actress. They both always pushed for me to go into pharmacy or some other medical profession, but I, of course, wanted to go into the arts. Well, eventually they both got caught up in _my_ scandal when I was photographed getting… intimate with a male idol,” he says, “So, they pulled me out of my music lessons and forced me to keep a low profile for the most part. Then, they were both killed by carbon monoxide poisoning and I ran away to America while Baekbeom took over the company and handled the estate.” He steals the soju Junmyeon had ordered for himself and takes a long sip to detract from his words.

“That’s Baekhyun,” Jongdae says to break the silence. “I’m sure most people wouldn’t really remember him or recognize him should we really get caught together, but… you never know with sasaengs.” 

Yixing nods, he knows. He’s just as famous, if not more so. “I’m sorry you went through that,” he says quietly. 

“You asked, I told. I didn’t say you were allowed to apologize for it,” Baekhyun murmurs. “Anyways, have you got a tragic backstory? Or are you like Jongdae, where everything’s sunshine and rainbows?”

“I’ve just worked hard to get where I am. Injuries that nearly ended my career a few times, but, for the most part, there’s no angst,” He says. Baekhyun eyes him doubtingly.

“Bullshit, you’ve got something. Even I can tell,” Jongdae says, blinking. Yixing shakes his head and reaches for the bottle of soju. Jongdae rolls his eyes.

“My grandmother was the reason I kept pushing myself. She passed before she could ever see me on stage,” Yixing explains, quiet, just a touch broken. Baekhyun’s gaze falls. 

Jongdae reaches over and squeezes his hand gently. “That’s sad to hear. I’m sure she’s proud though, wherever she is.” 

Yixing nods. Baekhyun looks away. That’s okay too. Yixing knows he doesn’t have the same relationship with his own family—so his empathy in this situation is probably more stilted. Yixing’s not going to push for sympathy he doesn’t need.

“Well, now that we’ve all shared,” Baekhyun says rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s probably best we stop hogging these people’s tables.” He stands up to go pay their cheque while Junmyeon asks Jongdae how he got here.

Turns out, Jongdae took a cab. As the only one who didn’t drink at all, he goes ahead and takes Baekhyun’s keys. 

“Where’s Junmyeon staying?”

“With me,” Baekhyun responds. Jongdae nods, then directs the same question to Yixing, who ends up being in the hotel nearest Jongdae’s apartment. “Why don’t you drop Junmyeon off at mine,” Baekhyun supposes, “and then we can drop Yixing off and hang out a little bit before I head out.”

Everyone agrees with the plans. The car soon dissolves into mundane small-talk. Junmyeon and Yixing chat about their love for music and theatre while Jongdae and Baekhyun catch up with one another, taking the welcome reprieve the car affords.

***

After dropping off Junmyeon, the car could only be described as quiet. It was a comfortable quiet, where all of them were relaxed—but, it was quiet. How often did any of them get that? Baekhyun probably saw it the most, seeing as he lived alone and for the most part, worked alone. But Yixing, Jongdae? They had to thrive in those few silent moments.

Though, despite the comfort, something wasn’t… _quite_ right. Baekhyun wasn’t sure what it was, but he was almost confident in the fact. It could have just been that the roads were a little more empty than normal, or the moon just didn’t seem as bright, but the hair raised on the back of his neck and he could do little to shake the feeling.

Soon enough, it began to rain. Lightly, in short sheets that came down from the heavens and splattered across the road. His feeling mounted.

Perhaps, that’s why he wasn’t surprised when the tires squealed and the car slid off its original path. Jongdae’s gut reaction is to brake.

The car slips further out of his control and they veer sideways, the front of the car pointed towards the expressway’s guardrail. It slams into it, shoving the front corner of the car inwards, throwing their own force back at them.

The car flips, grating up against the guardrail, sliding on its side, then onto its top, the sounds loud, abrasive, screeching.

They come to a stop. Inside, it’s silent. Baekhyun can feel rain pattering against his hand. When he opens his eyes, looking out onto the roadway, he sees it’s because he’s been partially ejected, laying against wet asphalt, hair rapidly soaking with water and blood.

He blinks.

From inside the car, there’s a moan of pain, followed by a sob as someone regains consciousness and becomes intimately aware of their injuries.

But Baekhyun. Baekhyun can’t even bring himself to cry out.

He pulls his hand back inwards, takes stock of his body. He’s tangled, bones broken and shattered, in his seat belt. He’s bleeding _far_ too much, both from an injury to his head, and from something internal that’s bubbling up his throat and over himself.

He looks to his side, to Jongdae. He appears to have been the one to cry out, because he’s got smears of blood on his face, obviously from when he clapped his hand over his mouth in shock, maybe even to try and muffle the pain he felt—but, he’s unconscious again, face red as he sits suspended in his seat. Baekhyun wants to reach over to let him down, but can’t. His body can’t contort that much with all the damage it’s taken.

He looks into the back of the vehicle and finds Yixing sitting with his eyes open. For a split second, Baekhyun’s heart jumps into his throat and he thinks that Yixing is dead.

Then, Yixing blinks and seemingly regains himself, eyes locking onto Baekhyun’s with an almost _inhuman_ clarity.

Baekhyun’s breath rattles in his chest, blood bubbling up at his lips. He’s going to die. He wants to wail, but he can’t suck in enough breath to do it. Yixing watches him, then reaches out and grabs Baekhyun’s limp hand, holding it.

In the next minute, Baekhyun dies, breath gasping, fear clinging to all of his features. By this time, he could have heard the sound of motorists that have pulled over and come to help. But, they’re not necessary for him.

Because the minute after that, his eyes are blinking back open—bright with the knowledge of all that he is, was, and will be. Now, when he looks into Yixing’s eyes, he realizes that Yixing remembers too. Probably experienced the same resurrection just seconds before Baekhyun did.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Baekhyun whispers, his body rekindling, his core burning brighter the deeper the breaths he takes. It’s both an exclamation of shock, and a greeting. He’s never felt more torn in two, half of him is singing with delight at the memory of just _who_ Yixing is to him. The other half is experience mounting horror as it remembers Jongdae, wonderful, fragile, _human_ Jongdae.

He feels his bones snap back together, fusing his vessel back into one piece, miraculously unharmed. He looks back at Jongdae and jerks into action. “I can’t lose him,” he finds himself sobbing out loud. He doesn’t know if he’s saying this as some sort of _apology_ , like he’s admitting a weakness, or what. He just knows that Yixing may be important on a spiritual level to him, but Jongdae was his lifeblood in Yixing’s absence.

He _cannot_ lose Jongdae.

He undoes Jongdae’s seatbelt and eases him onto the metal roof of the vehicle, mindful of the shattered glass and bits of scrap metal that have ended up in the interior of the vehicle. There are hands at the door, wrenching it open. The motorists, perhaps the only chance Jongdae has at surviving this encounter.

Except, when Baekhyun’s hands feel for his pulse, there’s nothing there. The sound he makes is inhuman, halfway between a sob and a scream. It rips itself out of his throat unbidden, burning, searing in its intensity.

Yixing pulls himself closer, reaching out for Baekhyun’s hands, for Jongdae.

Baekhyun looks up, his eyes burning like fire. Yixing’s eyes are black as the night sky, glimmering, stoic. “I can’t be their god if I cannot save him,” Baekhyun murmurs, tears wetting his cheeks.

Yixing stares at him. It’s bad to tip the balance of life and death. The universe will eventually put it back to order. Someone will die to make room for Jongdae. But, they won’t know who it is. The only thing Baekhyun and Yixing will suffer from intimately is if Jongdae dies here and now.

“Then save him,” Yixing permisses, magic flowing through his palm and into the back of Baekhyun’s hand.

Baekhyun doesn’t hesitate.

Immediately, he rekindles the burning fire in Jongdae’s heart, warming his blood, warming his soul back to life. And Yixing, Yixing bends over and presses his lips to Jongdae’s, breathing _life_ back into his lungs, _being_ back into his mind.

And Jongdae’s eyes open.


	4. Rebirth

“The longer you mope about it, the worse it’s going to seem,” Yixing mumbles from his spot on Baekhyun’s couch. His phone _dings_ with a notification. He’s still getting well wishes since news of the accident broke, even though he’s already been discharged with a mostly clean bill of health.

Baekhyun cracks his knuckles nervously, “I can’t visit him because it may cause a scandal. Name one thing more frustrating,” he challenges. Yixing hums in understanding.

He stands up and walks over to Baekhyun’s spot on a barstool, placing his hands on Baekhyun’s shoulders and massaging. “At least he’s alive. At least all of us are.”

“That crash would have killed all three of us if we weren’t what we are,” Baekhyun says, “You’re not helping the situation, only reminding me just _how close_ I was to never seeing him again.”

“But that’s not how it turned out, now is it?” Yixing says reasonably. Baekhyun shakes his head, putting his head in his hands. “Baekhyun, listen. We need to talk.”

“About what? Us? What about him?!” Baekhyun gasps, his voice shaking. “Junmyeon’s bringing him the things I made right now because I can’t be there and you want to talk about us?”

“We’re _gods_ , Baekhyun!” Yixing shouts, pulling back to look Baekhyun in the eye. “We _have_ to talk. We can’t just ignore that fact,” he says, “I know you remember exactly what I remember, so stop hiding from it.”

“We were lovers who neglected the people that depended on us, tell me that’s not just a little similar to the situation at hand.”

“You’re not neglecting him, Baekhyun, you’re making sure that when he’s healthy he knows what he’s coming back to. Please just let me talk.”

“We chose to _forget_ one another for humanity. Now that I’m in love with a human are you so jealous that you want to take me away from him?”

“No!” Yixing snarls, voice rising. Baekhyun’s mouth snaps shut, eyes wide, hurt. “I’m trying to tell you that I understand. I know you care for him. Fuck, you brought him back to life because you loved him so much. I’m not going to try and take you from him even if I feel like you and I belong together.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? Even when we didn’t remember, we clicked. We got along. And, if you’re willing to remember, so did Jongdae and I after we started talking,” Yixing says.

Baekhyun’s eyes narrow. He truly is the god of nature, unpredictable, destructive. If Yixing is the moon, captivating, magnetic, then Baekhyun is a hurricane—a whirlwind of passion and energy. “Then what are you suggesting,” Baekhyun snaps.

Yixing steps back, sizes him up. “I’m saying you should tell him. Everything. What we are, what we did. And I’m telling you that perhaps he’s what we lacked back then.”

Baekhyun stares. Yixing can feel his temper faltering as he processes what Yixing’s said. “Are you suggesting…” he trails off.

“I don’t know if you forgot, but I can’t even be seen with him without chancing a scandal. What makes you think the both of us could do it?”

“Humans have a one track mind. So many of them are monogamous. Don’t you think it’s the perfect cover. I act as a buffer between you two. You act as a buffer between he and I. He acts as a buffer between the two of us.”

“What if I don’t love you,” Baekhyun says, crossing his arms.

Yixing schools his face. Though he knows Baekhyun’s just grasping for straws at this point, his words still cut deep. “If our memories are honest, then you _do_. The problem lies in whether or not he loves _me_ , isn’t it?”

Baekhyun watches him, then, nods. “I suppose it is.”

“If he accepts it?”

“What? Us? I suppose we try it.”

Yixing steps away again, grabbing his jacket and phone. “All right. Then let me know how it all goes whenever you decide to talk about it. I have to go back to China. But… I’m waiting for a call.” He waves his phone, then, he lets himself out of Baekhyun’s apartment, breezing past Junmyeon on the stairs.

“What was that about?” He asks when he enters Baekhyun’s apartment and spots Baekhyun sitting with his fingers ripping at his hair.

“An argument.”

“What could you and Yixing possibly argue about. The crash was Jongdae’s fault technically, and even then, it was one of those mistakes anyone could make.”

“Not about the crash, something else. Really, it’s fine,” Baekhyun says, brushing Junmyeon off. “How is he?” Baekhyun redirects, looking up.

Junmyeon arches a brow, but says nothing about the change of topic. “They’ll be able to discharge him in a week. Surgery went well, his hip’s still a bit messed, but he should be able to come back as if nothing happened for the most part. He’s lucky, but not as lucky as you are.”

Baekhyun’s reminded that he’s yet to tell Junmyeon about any of his revelations, or anything that happened on the roadway that night. At least, the truth of it all. “I’m not sure about that,” Baekhyun says weakly. “But, I’m glad he’s okay. Yongmin said that he’d tell me when Jongdae was going to be brought home so I could go wait in the apartment for him and not get photographed.”

“That’s good,” Junmyeon says, stooping down to pet one of Baekhyun’s two cats, obviously woken by the shouting Yixing and he had just exchanged. “How much longer do you want to stay in Seoul?” He asks after a beat of silence.

Baekhyun’s gaze flicks back up to his, confusion clearly evident in it because Junmyeon hurriedly gives an explanation. “It’s just that with the crash and the press everything’s getting, I’m worried you might internalize a lot of the negativity and whatnot. You… do that sometimes.”

“I’m not leaving until Jongdae’s really okay,” he says slowly before holding his hand out and coaxing Monani over to him. She leaps up into his lap, purring. Still, she doesn’t solve the turmoil crashing about in his heart.

Tired, worn, Baekhyun picks up the cat and goes to bed, Myung following behind him, pattering along and meowing worriedly.

***

With Yixing back in China and Junmyeon spending most of his day with Jongdae (in lieu of Baekhyun), the flat is left empty apart from Baekhyun and the two cats. It doesn’t take him long to actually give attention to the memories that sit in the back of his mind, the magic that seems to pulse beneath his skin.

There are centuries of memories just waiting for him to parse through them. Most of them include Yixing and a blanket of stars. Other memories are of temples, of priests and priestesses, of ancient rituals and offerings. Some are memories of when the world first began, when Baekhyun created _himself_ out of Yixing’s latent energy and created the husk of the universe in which Yixing would late breathe life.

Half of him wants to say it’s impossible, that he’s losing his mind. That something was irreparably damaged in the car accident, but, so many of the scenes are just like images he took from his dreams and painted.

Perhaps, he never really _did_ forget. He just didn’t recognize the people he saw.

Somehow, this realization is the first to really put him at ease. It allows him to re-compartmentalize his thoughts and figure out what his next course of action is. If he is a god, what is it that he has to do? Does he remain on Earth masquerading as a human? Does he return to the starscape?

Everything’s confusing, mulling up in the air like a cloud.

So, he gets up and walks to the bathroom, standing in front of his mirror. He looks tired—bags under his eyes, a pallor to his face, a dull glint in his eyes, chapped lips—but, the longer he looks, picking out features, the easier it is to revitalize himself. Magic courses over his skin like warm candle wax, molding, fixing, reviving. And once he’s glowing—skin golden, hair tawny, eyes fiery—he focuses on becoming what he saw in his dreams.

Golden skin melts away leaving in its place an almost intangible sort of silhouette. Stars, comets, nebula all swirl within the outline of his body. And then, before his eyes, his silhouette begins to warp and become more like a waft of smoke than a human body.

He panics, and reimagines his human body.

It returns, slowly, but it returns.

He breathes a sigh of relief, bracing his hands against the sink.

It’s real. He cannot be hallucinating this. There’s no way.

When he looks back up into the mirror, he notices the golden glow deep inside his eyes. He remembers what he _was._

Baekhyun, God of the Earth, the Sculptor, the Hearth of the World.

He never really strayed far from that original creative gleaning. From maker of all creation to a painter, renowned for his fantastical portraits and abstracts, for making paintings that were inherently familiar despite their abstractions.

At the thought, all of his fears slide away. He’s still anxious about telling Jongdae (really, he has no idea how to do so), but, he’s secure in believing that this is exactly what he was meant to be.

***

The text had come roughly three hours ago, and since then, Baekhyun’s been waiting in Jongdae’s empty apartment, chewing on his fingertips and awaiting his lover’s arrival. He’s not sure what to expect, what anything will herald. He’s _terrified_ in fact, for what could come out of Jongdae’s mouth. What if his near brush with death convinced him that he and Baekhyun weren’t good for one another?

Baekhyun can hardly stomach the thought, nerves running so rampant that he begin to feel nauseous, his head spinning and eyes blurring.

Then, the click of the door opening, the beep of the key code unlocking, and the _whoosh_ as the door swings open and Jongdae steps inside, hurriedly shoving the door shut with the back of his heel right behind him.

He pauses in the hallway and stares at Baekhyun, who rocks worriedly on the edge of the couch, fingers digging into his knees, palms sweating.

For several minutes, neither of them say anything—they just size one another up, take everything back in.

And then, Baekhyun’s speaking. His voice breaks on the word, “Jongdae,” and he pushes himself up to his feet to hurriedly go and fold Jongdae into a hug. Arms weakened by their hospital stay wrap around his frame tightly, as if Baekhyun is a dream that Jongdae’s about to wake up and forget.

All the while, Baekhyun just takes a deep breath and takes in Jongdae’s scent—almost cloyed out by hospital antiseptic—and slides his hands up into Jongdae’s hair, wrapping the tendrils around his fingers, tugging Jongdae all the closer. “Dear god, I thought I lost you,” Baekhyun mumbles.

“I know I lost you,” Jongdae says quietly.

He leans backwards, stepping out of Baekhyun’s grip, but slides his hands along Baekhyun’s arms, clasps their hands together. “I was in and out of consciousness, but I swear you weren’t… You had a lot more than a scratch going on,” Jongdae says, eyes wide, confused.

Baekhyun stares at him, then, slowly he nods. “We all died.”

Jongdae takes in a breath, sharp, hollow. Baekhyun grips his hands tighter and leads him over to the couch, sits him down and curls him up against his chest. “I need you to keep an open mind. I swear I’m not fucking around or crazy,” he says seriously, looking Jongdae dead in the eyes.

Jongdae nods.

“All the people who did the scene reconstruction were right in saying that our survival was miraculous. There’s literally no reason we should have survived, and we _didn’t._ Yixing died first, then me, and then you,” his voice breaks. He takes a breath before continuing. “We just… didn’t stay dead. Yixing and I, we’re…” He trails off, searching for words.

Jongdae shakes his head, urging him to get on with it, eyes narrowed. He’s confused—rightfully so—but he doesn’t know how crazy it sounds. Reviving is one thing, but saying your a _god_ is something else entirely.

“We’re not human,” Baekhyun settles on. He shifts in his seat, so uncharacteristically nervous, and finally just says, “Watch, ok? And promise you won’t freak out.”

His eyes flutter shut and he sits back, putting a little distance between he and Jongdae. Then, he imagines that face he saw in the mirror, when he became a silhouette of stars and other cosmic constellations. He hears Jongdae gasp, but he’s too focused on keeping his shape to really comment on it.

After a minute, he reimagines himself. Both of them watch as the last of the stars in his hands are replaced by golden skin.

Baekhyun can’t bring himself to look up. He doesn’t want to know what Jongdae’s thinking. He doesn’t want to see the expression on his face.

He’s so afraid of rejection.

It brings him back to when he first confessed to loving Jongdae, just before he ran to America with Junmyeon. Over a voicemail when he was drunk, because he wouldn’t have had the courage any other way. He remembers feeling sick, like his stomach would heave its contents all over the floor and he’d soon pass out.

This moment is a lot like that, but there’s _so_ much more to lose if Jongdae rejects him now.

Because they were something. That first time, they’d just been friends. This time though…

“Baekhyun look at me,” Jongdae whispers, hands grabbing for his. Baekhyun can’t, his lips tremble. “Baekhyun—I said, ‘look at me.’”

Baekhyun looks up, eyes glimmering sadly.

He can’t even read Jongdae’s expression.

“Baekhyun, I’m not mad. I believe you, it’s okay,” Jongdae says when he realizes Baekhyun’s tension hasn’t relaxed. “Baekhyun, I don’t look angry, do I? I’m just processing everything, come here,” and he pulls Baekhyun against his chest.

Baekhyun sobs, loud and long, but so, so relieved as he curls against Jongdae, his body going lax, his hands twisting in Jongdae’s shirt, his face pressed to Jongdae’s chest. Jongdae lets him cry. He might not know why this revelation is so hard for Baekhyun to get through, but he will. Baekhyun’s not finished talking yet. He says as much after a few minutes, pulling back and looking at Jongdae through wet eyelashes.

“Yixing’s the same way. And we’re… we were—” he cuts himself off, gaze flitting away again. Jongdae thumbs away his tears, the gentle touch bringing Baekhyun’s gaze back onto his. He takes a deep breath. “You know my painting? The one Yixing bought? I told you there were two lovers in the middle of it. Lovers that were made out of stars. That were so consumed by one another that they couldn’t even care for their creation. That’s _us_. Yixing and I. Not you and I. _Yixing_ and I.”

Silence.

And then, “So what if Yixing has a few paintings with you,” Jongdae murmurs, “I’m your muse, aren’t I?”

It’s so simple. Completely unexpected, anticlimactic. And yet, it’s so Jongdae. He’s jealous, but only within reason. He’s openminded, chivalrous, selfless all other times. Of course the first thing he would say is something like that—designed to put Baekhyun at ease and a little humor into the situation.

Baekhyun laughs disbelievingly. “You are,” he murmurs, burying himself in Jongdae’s embrace once more. “God, you’re my everything. The reason I create.”

He wonders if he had a vision of Jongdae back when he first created humans from clay and stardust. Wonders if, from the beginning of time, he’s had Jongdae in mind for his every sculpture, his every painting.

His _muse_. Past, present, and future.

“You’re my muse,” Baekhyun repeats, the words holding so much more weight now. Jongdae understands, patting the back of his head soothingly. He gets it.


	5. Eternity

Eventually, news comes out that Baekhyun was involved in the car accident with both Yixing and Jongdae. The press is bad, but easily quashed for the most part. Baekhyun’s old news now that his parents aren’t in the limelight, and Baekbeom keeps a low enough profile that not even his name is in the news. In a way, it’s liberating to see that the general public has little to no regard for _who_ Baekhyun is—most of the complaints suggested Baekhyun may have been the bad influence that caused the crash (which obviously shut down once details were released)—and it immediately helps both Jongdae and Baekhyun readjust and realign their values.

They don’t hide. At least, not as much as they did before. They still don’t hold hands in public, and they’re careful about PDA, but they aren’t afraid to be seen together anymore even though Baekhyun’s sure that he’d be able to sneak around much more easily given his newfound divinity.

It’s sweet like candy, fresh like the first breath of air in the morning, simple as a child. Everything just seems to work.

Except, there’s still Yixing to think about.

Baekhyun hasn’t spoken to him since he left to return to China. He wonders if Yixing sees photos of he and Jongdae. Wonders if it makes his heart pang.

Because try as he might to ignore it, Baekhyun’s heart aches for Yixing. He’d been attracted to him back before… everything that happened, but now he has the knowledge that Yixing was his other half. His complimentary part.

So, when Jongdae says to pack his bags and get ready for a flight, the first thing that comes to mind is that Jongdae’s physically hauling him over to Yixing. Panic leaps in his throat until Jongdae says they’re going to Japan to relax for a bit. Not China. Some residual part of Baekhyun sinks at the news, but the rest of him is elated not to have to confront things yet.

Until they arrive at their room and he locks his gaze with Yixing’s.

The musician is sat cross-legged on the bed in the center of the room, rings glinting in the sunlight that streams through the window, lips plush, nervously chewed. His hair’s blond now, messy, hanging in his face.

Baekhyun doesn’t know what to say. His mouth parts, but no words come out. He’s simultaneously _terrified,_ because he had _totally_ ghosted Yixing—but he’s also enchanted.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Baekhyun says finally.

Jongdae whacks him at the same time Yixing laughs, the sound bright and familiar. They fall quiet again, neither of them quite sure what to say. It’s not as if they parted under the best circumstances.

“Oh, stop beating around the bush, you two,” Jongdae says finally, pushing Baekhyun towards the bed—and Yixing—tutting his tongue.

Baekhyun flops down next to Yixing with a _whumpf_. He looks up, blinking, and only then does his apprehension dissipate. They may be strangers in this life, but they aren’t _really_. Besides, if Jongdae’s going to go through the trouble to help them reconnect. Who’s Baekhyun to run away from it all?

“Hi,” he says dumbly.

Yixing snorts, resting his hand in Baekhyun’s hair, ruffling it around. “Hey, yourself,” he responds grinning.

Just like that, everything keeping them apart disappears. It’s not a physical thing, more of a spiritual one, but it’s a wholeness that cannot be described. Like a ship when its first put on the sea, a bird when it first spreads its wings, a flower when it first blooms. It’s completion, understanding, trust.

Baekhyun’s gaze flicks to Jongdae. He’s not sure what he’s asking, but Jongdae nods anyways.

Baekhyun looks back at Yixing, “Can I kiss you?” Imperceptibly, Yixing wets his lips, blinking wide, as if the question is unexpected. But, he nods anyways, and they lean in.

He _knows_ they don’t stay physical. It’s a melding of their bodies, their hands turning to stars. Yixing’s body is as cold as ice as it molds around Baekhyun’s, which is like a furnace, burning and consuming. Yixing, firm, steadfast Yixing and Baekhyun, unpredictable, passionate Baekhyun.

And then, a hand reaches into the two of them. Baekhyun almost panics, terrified that he’ll burn Jongdae’s human skin. But, Yixing soothes the burn, prevents it from actually taking to Jongdae’s skin.

Baekhyun grapples for his mortal body. He wants to _feel_ Jongdae. Wants to learn his way around them both. It’s been so long since he’s had Jongdae under him, above him. And, truthfully, it’s the same for he and Yixing.

Jongdae slides his hand up Baekhyun’s flesh, touching, petting, inviting. Yixing returns to his mortal state as well, though stardust seems to linger behind his touches. He kisses Baekhyun like this, now, his mouth warm, plush, sweet. He leads the kiss gently.

He pulls away and moves back, reaching out and tugging Jongdae down next to them. Jongdae kisses Baekhyun before he can say a word.

Baekhyun melts against him. He feels at _home_. After a few minutes, Jongdae pulls back. Baekhyun blinks, watching as he turns to Yixing. For the first time tonight, Jongdae’s the one to hesitate, almost apprehensive, as if he doesn’t know where the boundaries lie.

“Please kiss me,” Yixing breathes. Jongdae nods, murmuring agreement under his breath and leans into Yixing’s space.

Perhaps the only thing better than Jongdae kissing him is Jongdae kissing Yixing. Baekhyun sucks in a breath as their lips meet, as they adjust to one another. They catch on quickly, both of them used to kissing Baekhyun, and from there on, it’s like they were made for one another. Perhaps, they were.

Sometime later, Yixing pulls away and suggests they go out for dinner. Baekhyun and Jongdae readily agree.

They may both like Yixing, but this is still new to _them_ —a unit having someone else join them. It’s unchartered territory that they’re not sure they’re ready to navigate tonight.

***

Baekhyun _does_ eventually fly back to Austin. It’s a little while after their excursion to Japan that he makes the decision. Junmyeon has to get back to work and Baekhyun has clients waiting on him, galleries to prepare, the café to begin construction on. In the mix of all the excitement in Seoul, he’d almost forgotten his plans to open the little shop, which would hopefully help solve his loneliness in the time Yixing and Jongdae weren’t in the city.

Jongdae stays in Seoul to continue preparing for his album release, as does Yixing in China, but, when the time comes and both albums release, Baekhyun can’t help but feel proud. He wishes the café were open so he could play them both, but, as it stands, he can’t rush his passion project. In lieu of promoting that way, he adds the songs to his art playlists as background music for when he uploads videos of his process.

His next gallery exhibition does nearly as well (by comparable means) as both Yixing and Jongdae’s albums. He receives a commission from a design house to create back panels and other prints for a new line they have in the making, as well as an invitation to a gallery up in New York that he’s always liked. He turns down the design house (he really doesn’t dabble in fashion all that much, and his art isn’t made to be mass produced), but he accepts the invitation to the gallery showing in New York.

He’ll be displaying his newest piece, a three panel, wall-spread abstract titled “Moratorium—the Interim” based off the culmination of all his memories come back together.

When the showing rolls around and Baekhyun dresses up to greet potential clients and brokers, he spots a pair of familiar admirers standing just in front of the piece.

Junmyeon, who beat him to the gallery nods his head in their direction, a smile gracing his face.

“I hear this artist paints what he sees in his sleep,” Yixing says in Chinese as Baekhyun approaches.

Jongdae hums, “How cliché, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” Yixing agrees as Baekhyun plants himself between the two of them, grinning brightly. He looks up at his painting. The panel on the far right is made up of deep midnight blues and purples, speckled with constellations and star systems. The panel on the far left is painted with golds and warm, earthy colors—it’s disjointed, hard to follow.

And then, the panel in the middle is a blend of it all coming together. It’s complimentary colors marrying their respective panels. It’s the link between it all.

Alone, the panels each have a name. The Sky, the Middle, the Earth. All together, a trio perfectly in-sync, perfectly devoted to one another. Complements to the highest degree. And the title of the piece hails from the word’s definition. Moratorium, a noun, the temporary prohibition of an activity. The interim, the in-between.

The time when Baekhyun remembered nothing but still found everything he needed.

“Is this one for sale?” Yixing asks once he realizes Baekhyun has come to peace with his thoughts.

Baekhyun turns to meet his gaze, cheeks rosy and bright. “A little birdie told me the artist is keeping it. Has someone in mind for it all ready.” He pauses, glancing at Jongdae, “or, rather, someone _s_.”

They laugh together, voices blending as one.

Again, Baekhyun thinks that perhaps, they were all made for one another. Destined to be here, in love.

Junmyeon appears behind them after a period of time. “You three need to vacate the spot right in front of this thing,” he mutters, “even if you’re not selling, Baekhyun, the exposure will be good to have.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. He’s not that driven to succeed in the art world now that he’s found where he really belongs—his true purpose. In time, he’ll return to the starscape once more and repeat the cycle. For now, he’ll enjoy the interim, disregard fame.

But, what Junmyeon wants, Junmyeon gets. Baekhyun ushers the other two away from the piece. They spend the rest of the night chatting with guests and exploring the other artworks on display.

Until, a hand taps Baekhyun’s shoulder. It comes when they’re all stood in a corner, laughing and joking amongst each other. Baekhyun’s half expecting to be told they need to leave, but, when he turns around, all his breath whooshes out of his throat and his stomach turns into a stone.

“Baekbeom,” he says icily.

His brother eyes him warily for a minute. His wife’s plastered to his side, but, surprisingly, she seems to be coaxing him to say something, as if she’s here for emotional support—not to laud something over Baekhyun.

“Baekhyun,” his brother greets, equally stilted. Jongdae’s hand lands on Baekhyun’s shoulder, squeezing, letting him know that he’s there if things get bad. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“Likewise,” Baekhyun says, raising his chin defiantly. How long has it been since they’ve even spoken? Ten years? More? “Why are you… why didn’t you just avoid me?”

“I wanted to apologize. Or, really, if I’m being honest, Suyeon wanted me to apologize. But, I think it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t have to forgive you for what you put me through,” Baekhyun says, “it took years to unlearn the shit you taught me to internalize.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Baekbeom says. Baekhyun starts, eyes widening. Proud, arrogant Baekbeom admitting he’s wrong? Baekhyun never thought he would have seen the day. “I just wanted to say I regret what I used to say to you and I have no excuses for it. I also wanted to offer us a chance. Suyeon’s pregnant and I don’t want my kid to have an uncle they don’t ever know.”

Baekhyun looks between Baekbeom and his wife, then flicks a panicked glance in Jongdae and Yixing’s direction.

“That’s a lot to process right now, I’m sure you understand,” Jongdae says, stepping forward, a little in front of Baekhyun. “I’m sure he’ll think about it, and do forgive us for being a bit cold, but…”

“No, I understand,” Baekbeom says. He shifts on his heels, looks supremely awkward and out of place. Baekhyun _almost_ feels bad for him, but he’s also not ready to leave all his trauma behind, not yet. Probably not ever, but he can accept that people can change. Maybe he’ll give Baekbeom the benefit of the doubt. “It’s good to see you, though, Baekhyun. I’m glad you’re doing well. Your piece is… very _you_ , _”_ He says. Then, Suyeon’s letting him back away. She tosses them a smile over her shoulder.

Baekhyun kind of likes her already.

“That was awkward,” Yixing comments, taking a sip of his wine. Baekhyun snorts, shelving his tumultuous emotions for a moment and returning his attention back to Jongdae and Yixing. He thanks Jongdae with a little kiss, stolen in a moment he’s sure no one is paying attention to.

Yixing squeezes his hand. “Are you okay?”

Baekhyun nods, “Yeah, I just… really didn’t expect that,” he says. Jongdae echoes him, equally shocked by the exchange. “But, I don’t know. It’s kind of nice. I know some people can just cut their family off and pretend nothing ever happened, but Baekbeom and I did have good memories. I think we can heal. Not to the degree he probably wants, but… I’d like to meet my niece or nephew. You know?”

Both of them nod understandingly. Then, Yixing downs the rest of his drink. “On that note, I think it’s time we ditch, then. There’s this cool bar down the street that has a live band playing tonight. I say we go wind down. I hate a crowd of suits and pearls.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes because among them, Yixing’s probably the one surrounded by elite company the most often, but he doesn’t argue. Going out would be nice.

He stops by Junmyeon on the way out, “Remember, you can’t sell this one. Also, promote my café, I’ll be displaying baby artist’s works there and it’s good to get patrons on them already.” Junmyeon snorts, but agrees to Baekhyun’s terms, smacking his butt playfully when he turns to leave with his two boyfriends.

***

Later that night, when they all stumble into Baekhyun hotel room, all they can focus on is having their hands on one another. Baekhyun’s touch burns like a furnace, sweeping over their skin reverently. Yixing is much the same, though opposite. He’s cold in a way that’s exciting, new, and stardust coats their lips when they pull away from him.

Between the two of them Jongdae moans, his voice like honey, his body ever accepting, ever loving. Human.

Like a whisper between the three of them, the universe seems to croon affectionately, as if it knows its gods understand what it is to love without consuming themselves now. As if it knows that their shared love for Jongdae will keep humanity well pampered, well protected.

And it’s right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you think!


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